Camp True-Blood
by Jeyman113
Summary: The story of two kids from camp in Tartarus where all the children are Demi-Titans. It's about a son of Hyperion and daughter of Kronos who find a way up to the human world, where they have one objection, to find Percy Jackson, and kill him. Story of Revenge.
1. Where is Percy Jackson?

Lazarus

She stares at me, her emerald eyes fierce narrowed. She bends low in her battle stance, her hands gripped tightly around the ebony staff of her scythe. I watch her ruffled auburn hair fly in the air around her face as she prepares to attack.

I pause time in my mind and thank the Titans for my short, black hair that doesn't _fly-in-the-air-around-my-face _during a fight.

But then time starts again. One moment she's there, standing thirty feet away from me on the dry, crusted ground. And the next she's flying across the gap between us, her scythe pulled back and ready. I only have a second to react, and I throw my arm up in defense. Her weapon sweeps through the stuffed air, and burrows into my shield. I feel the nerves in my shoulder light on fire at impact.

I smile. This will be fun.

Then I'm pushing my shield aside along with her scythe and thrusting my arm forward at her bare midsection. Her instincts kick in and she flies backward before my sword can reach her. Now I'm running at her and she's putting the staff of her weapon up in defense. Mad adrenaline courses through my veins. I find myself screaming as I slam the front of my shield into her weapon, knocking her back onto the ground. She grunts.

"You done yet?" I say with a smirk. Her lips curl into a wicked smile.

"Not even close."

"Good."

And my eyes go wild as the adrenaline kicks in again. She scrambles back to her and races toward me again. I put up my shield for the second time, but her body goes low and she brings her foot around behind my legs. I fall to the ground with a groan as the dust flies up and scrapes at my throat and eyes.

That went way too quick.

It wasn't fun at all.

"Are _you_ done yet?" she questions as she points the scythe down at me.

"You know the rules, Sasha. There's only one way to end this."

"Yes, I do," she sighs and raises her weapon high into the air as the approving shouts erupt from the outskirts of the Arena.

"_Finish him!_" our audience yells in animalistic union.

She brings the curved blade across my arm, tearing through the rags and into the skin. I clench my jaw as white hot pain erupts just below my shoulder. The small crowd erupts at the sight of the warm liquid falling down my arm and mixing with the crusted ground. They clap and jeer and laugh and I just lay there, with Sasha towering over me. Her twin brothers appear behind her.

Zach and Elric slam their rather large hands down on the shoulders of their little sister and both gleam at her with a toothy grin. She smiles back at them, her right eye twitching from the pain.

"Good job, sis," Elric says. The only way I can tell him apart from his brother is the scar traveling across his right eye and ending right above his cheekbone. His brother has an identical scar, though it travels across the left eye. Other than that, the two could be the same person. They both stand tall, with bald heads, gleaming blue eyes, and thin mouths. With their huge arms and broad shoulders, it'd be easy to get them confused with a child of Atlas. In fact, up until the Signature of Kronos was carved into their backs, they stayed in the Atlas Territory.

I stand, holding my arm to stop the bleeding. My own siblings stay back in the crowd, their eyes digging into me with disappointment. I feel the weight of their anger on my bad arm, and stare at the ground in shame.

"Hey."

I look up, and see Sasha staring back at me. Zach and Elric are back in the crowd, having a _Who- Can-Flex-Their-Muscles-Longer? _match with an Atlas girl again.

"It was a good fight. You're not bad for a _Hot-Head_. You would've defiantly beaten me if I was blinded and had only one leg."

"Thanks, Sasha," I say dryly.

Her eyes soften and she smiles sympathetically. "You'd better get some Hell-Fireinto you. I cut you a little deep."

Hell-Fire comes from the _Phlethegon River _that runs parallel to the _Styx_. The thing is literally a "river of fire", which you really have to see to believe. It, along with the _Styx, Acheron, Lethe, _and _Cocytus_ are the five rivers of the Underworld.

Only children of Hyperion (such as myself) and his other son, Helios, can handle Hell-Fire, considering our fathers are practically made out of flames. In fact, the stuff is actually good for us, and acts like ambrosia does for the revolting _Half-Bloods._ The rest of the True-Bloods must bargain with Charon, the Ferryman of the _Acheron_, in order to get water from the river. _Acheron _wateris their version of Hell-Fire and Ambrosia.

"I personally think you didn't cut deep enough."

A tall, slender girl, with short, jet black hair, and thickly rimmed glasses appears next to us. She stares at me disapprovingly. "For such a mighty Titan, Hyperion sure did have some weakling children. But it's not your fault, Lazarus. I had a feeling that Sasha here would win."

"Shut up, Margie." I scowl and look back at Sasha. "See ya'." And I turn to walk out of the Arena.

"Wait a second, Lazarus," comes Margie's sharp voice behind me. "Father sent me to get you."

"Tell your dad I'm going to get some Hell-Fire, and then I'm going back to my Territory."

"You'd _dare _postpone a meeting with the overseer of Camp?"

"Really, Margie. At the moment, I could care less."

"But you're going to want to go see him. Both of you." she calls.

"I'll do it later," I say.

"Same here," Sasha replies, And I hear her scythe dragging against the ground as she walks away.

"He found Jackson."

I turn, my eyes wide. "What did you say?"

"Dude, you're glowing," Margie replies.

I look down and see my tan skin turning a bright yellowish color. Just like the sun. I feel warm, as though I've been put into an oven and someone's slowing turning up the temperature. But at the moment, I don't care. "_What did you just say, Margie_?" I walk back toward her, my mind swirling along with the continuously thundering skies above. "Your father found Jackson… _Percy _Jackson?"

"Where?" Sasha demands. "Where is Percy Jackson?"

Margie backs away, putting her palms up in defense. "Woah, woah. Calm down, you two. What's so important about this Jackson guy in the first place?" I feel my glow become fiercer as I stand there.

_Percy Jackson._

I look at Sasha, and I can see the rage taking over in her mind, too. She clenches her scythe as though she's going to attack some invisible enemy.

"Where's your dad?"

"He's over by the Cyclopes Territory having some kind of emergency meeting. He says to go to his office. He'll meet you there when he's done. Now who's Percy Jackson?"

"Let's go, Lazarus," Sasha says darkly.

"You think her dad really found him?

Her voice grows lower. "I don't know."

"We should still go."

"Yea. Go get some Hell-Fire, and I'll meet you at his office."

"_Can someone please tell me why you _care _about this Jackson so much?_" Margie practically screams.

I turn around as we walk away from her, literally leaving Margie "in the dust".

"We have to find Percy Jackson."

"_But why?_" Her dad being who he is, it should be surprising that she hasn't already though of the reason already. But my minds too busy on other things; other people.

_Percy Jackson._

"Because…" I turn my back to her again, picking up my pace and clutching my arm until my knuckles go white. "…we have to rip him limp from limb…," Sasha continues my sentence, stomping her feet into the ground as she walks.

"…then throw his soul into the _Phlethegon River_, to burn in Hell-Fire for the rest of eternity," I growl.


	2. Hill of Thorns

Lazarus

The great pile of dust, dried blood, and cracked skeleton bones that the Arena sits atop is known as the Hill of Thorns. Gigantic thorns, some as tall as the Cyclops, protrude from the miniature mountains side and soar into the air above my head. I weave my way throughout the thorns carefully, minding each step as if my life depended on it. Temporarily, I forget about Percy Jackson and my attention turns to getting down from this death trap.

Some kind of substance on the ground causes me to have to yank my foot up and forward every time I step. I stop; glancing hard into the monstrous shadows created by the thorns, and I realize I'm stepping through the crusted blood that's become a part of this hill.

A growl comes from the oblivion at the top of Tartarus, and I look upward. The skies are moving; twirling in a massive funnel of opaque blackness and lightning. The low growl comes again, and this time I feel the vibrations from the sky travel down to the ground and shake the very foundation of this place.

I stumble forward, catching myself on one of the thorns.

My breath comes out in quick, light wisps of air.

_Percy Jackson. _

Electricity courses through the scar left by Sasha on my arm and I cry out in pain and rage. I look out past the monstrous thorns and see the glow of the Caves in the distance. They lie out by old King Tantalus, who will forever reach down for water that will always recede and reach up for fruit that will for all of eternity be out of his grasp.

I trudge down the Hill of Thorns, keeping my eyes on the Caves as I pass from thorn to thorn. The _Phlethegon _passes through those Caves, casting the glow of artificial sunlight throughout their walls. I've gone their many times to get the Hell-Fire, each time passing the King and trying my hardest to ignore his pleas for a cup of water.

I used to think that there was nothing I could do for the damned King Tantalus, or for the forever frustrated King Sisyphus and that huge boulder he's been sentenced to push for all of time. I used to think that all of these people were meant to suffer down here for eternity, the same way the Titans have had to do for eons. I'd hear of those thieves, those _Half-Bloods _and their parents, and I'd find my skin glowing and my body temperature reaching that of a miniature Sun.

This is all their fault.

_Jackson_.

I used to think that there was nothing I could do to ease the suffering of the Titans and the poor king's. But it was Margie's father who gave both me and Sasha a way.

_Kill Jackson. Avenge your fathers._

At the bottom of the Hill, I run into the craters full of deadly vipers. I walk around them, listening to the hiss of hungry snakes. Chills run along my skin, because no matter how many times I walk passed them, the snakes will always be hungry, and I will always be fresh meat. I've heard of the camps for Half-Bloods up in the human world, where those brats have the _luxuries _of Strawberry Fields, a climbing wall, and their own cabins. Up there, the camp is all grouped to together in one small, confined area free of monsters. Here in Tartarus, we True-Bloods risk getting trampled or eaten by Cyclops or Giants every day when we head to the Mess Hall. If we want to have a recreational match in the Arena, we must be careful not to be impaled by thorns, or fall into twenty foot deep craters full of deadly snakes.

Our Territories, our sleeping quarters, are protected by our own guards; kids who are sometimes no older than thirteen years old in human years. (The sky has always been a raging storm of fire, lightning, and thunder. My father, Hyperion, cannot rise in the east and set in the west like he did many eons ago, meaning time can't be measured in days, months, or years. So no one knows their true age.)

But nonetheless, the guards are obviously too young to have to go up against monsters while on Guard. The entire Oceanus territory was almost completely wiped out by a Hydra once. It took the help of the camp's Overseer, Margie's dad, to finally send the thing to the very bottom of Tartarus.

Those Half-Bloods live lives of ease in their camps, while we fight to sleep in peace and eat without being eaten for our whole lives. I hate them. I hate them all and their prideful existences.

There's a wail coming from in front of me, and I look up. From the air surrounding a crater, a white form appears. It's an older man, with hair that would've been white even if he wasn't dead. He's bent over one of the craters, his arm reaching down into it as if he's trying to pull something up. I walk closer to the man with the white skin with no urgency. I look down into the crater, see the small girl who clings to his outstretched arm, and hear the hiss of the viper's as she dangles in the air. She struggles to hang on, her small white hands clenching onto the wrist of the old man. Her mouth opens along with his and I hear their wails, their cries of agony as he struggles to pull her back out. And I stand there, hopelessly watching their futile struggles, my eyes stinging with tears.

The old man can't hold on any longer, and the girl loses he grip, falling with wide eyes of terror into the crater. He screams.

I turn and keep walking. That man did something that didn't appease the Olympians in his life before, and now he's been sent here to experience the tragic loss of his loved ones for all of time. I turn back around one more time before I reach the end of the craters, and I see him bent low over the crater once again, his wails sounding into the air as he struggles desperately to once again pull the small girl away from the vipers.

_Percy Jackson._

_When I get my hands on you, I'll throw you into one of those craters myself._


	3. Explode

Sometime later, I'm standing over an embankment, looking with a longing stare toward the entrance of the Caves. The glow still emanates from them and the Hell-Fire's warmth soothes my aching muscles. I step downward, ready to walk the fifty or so yards to the massive entrance.

I hear a loud grunt and I turn, looking over to my right. An older looking man with similar rags to my own reaches a frail hand upward. A few inches away from his grasp sits the reddest, fullest apple I have ever seen. He reaches for the apple, the branch that the fruit hangs from rises, and he catches nothing but air. He swears loudly, and stamps his feet in the puddle of water below him. When quickly dives to the ground for a drink, the puddle of water vanishes until there's nothing but dry rock. I watch him slam his fist onto the ground in pitiful anger.

"Tantalus," I greet him. He looks up at me with weary eyes. Then his dry lips curl into a thin smile.

"_King _Tantalus."

"My bad. _King _Tantalus."

"Yes, I was a King once." Then his smile vanishes, and he looks longingly at the dried depression where the pond once was. "But now…now I'm chained and tortured for all of time. Now, I'm no better than a slave."

I don't know exactly what it was that got King Tantalus sent here. Yet it doesn't matter what he did while he was alive. There is nothing you could possibly do that should get you an eternity of continuous torment.

"Hey, boy," he says quickly, standing to his feet. I watch as the water rises through the cracks in the ground and fills in the depression around his feet. "Could you maybe give me a hand?"

"You've asked me that before, Tantalus."

"_King _Tantalus. Yes, I _was _a king once. Did you know that, my boy?"

"Yes, I know."

"You do? Tell me, my boy, I know you from somewhere don't I? Possibly you were there in Anatolia during my rule? In the kingdom of Tantalis? They named that place after me, you know. Maybe you were there. Maybe you once knew my son…? His name was Pelops. Fine boy….the Gods didn't much like the taste of him though…"

"What?"

"It was only that women…who was she. The one with the daughter who chose the absolute worse men ever. I mean, who chooses to date the God of the Underworld in the first place?"

"Are you talking about Persephone?"

"Ah! That was here name was it not? And what of her mother? Danica…Danielle…Demi…"

"Demeter?"

"Yes! That's it, my boy! It was Demeter who chose to eat when I presented Pelops to the Gods! Only she could appreciate the amount of work I put into that meal."

"You…you made your son…into a _meal_?"

And for once in my life, I can almost see why the Olympians would send a man to this place. Almost.

He places his forefinger on his beard in a thoughtful manner. "Speaking of food…"

He jumps up for the red apple, but the tree simply pulls the branch away and the not so mighty king slumps his shoulders in defeat.

"Go along, my boy. There is no entertainment in seeing a belittled man."

I turn to walk away. "Goodbye, King Tantalus."

"_King_…," he spits out. "Yes…I was a king once."

I leave King Tantalus to his melancholy and descend into the embankment. The soles of my feet have been calloused over for as long as I can remember, so the small chunks of jagged stone that layer the ground of the embankment barely tickle my toes. I wonder if this is how sand on a beach feels. Is it hot? Warm? Shift so easily at your slightest movement?

I'll visit a beach sometime in the future.

Yea, that's what I'll do once I kill Percy Jackson.

The heat of the Caves intensifies as I get closer to them. Other Demi-Titans would be writhing on the ground as their skin slowly but surely became kindling for the. I feel my body start to heat up sure, and I'm almost certain that that glow is not only coming from the _Phlethegon_, but I welcome the heat. A comforting sensation in my injured arm causes my eyes to wander to the fresh wound. A smile spreads across my face as I see the cut slowly begin to mend itself.

This is the power of the _Phlethegon_ and its Hell-Fire. They're a mimic of the Sun's power. Children of Hyperion and Helios are able to gain strength and health from the Hell-Fire, yes. But the river is limited by the barrier known as the Caves, so we are all held back from our true power. Some say it's a good thing that children of the previous Sun Titans do not have the full power of the Sun itself at their fingertips. They say that exposing us to the actual Sun which Apollo sits on would give us too much power; too much potential. The same is with the Children of Oceanus, who have never seen the open sea.

But I say that those people are wrong. I say that the Sun was my father's; my father _was _the Sun. What's ours will always be ours. That power, the eternally blazing fires that cover the Sun, is ours.

Every cursed soul who lives in Tartarus is angry, bitter. We all have venomous rage coursing through us. It is because of those Olympians; those hypocrites, those thieves. They've destroyed every single one of us on Earth and condemned us to a world where escape is about as rare as fresh water. Living here has made our dreams and nightmares one in the same. Because I have dreams of killing people, and I have nightmares of people being killed.

We Demi-Titans are somewhat able to control our anger because of the human blood running through our veins. But we were still born in Tartarus, not on Earth. And Tartarus thrives through the bitterness of its inhabitants. My mother bore me in these very Caves. The pain was excruciating, as it is with every Titan child. I've heard that every Titan born child is cursed, because our human parent always ends up dead shortly after our birth.

So I'm cursed.

And because of that the _Phlethegon_ over flooded when I was born.

And my mother is dead because of it. Because of me.

_Because of the Olympians._

My hands clench in a moment of pure rage. Beyond the Caves, a series of roars shake the very air. They follow one after the other, and I'm sure even my father in the Pit can hear their cries. It's the two Hekatonkheires; the Hundred Handed ones, who cry out in rage and sorrow for their brother, Briares.

I don't much care for Cottus and Gyges, considering that they threw mountains down at the Titans during the First Titan War. But their roar is so loud, so profound, that I can't help but understand their pain.

The light is everywhere within the Caves. It bounces of the stone as if it were mere glass. In the rare occasion that I can actually see a shadow, it dances like a satyr who is drunk with wine and has finally captured his tree nymph. I notice immediately that there is something terribly wrong when you're able to compare a shadow in Tartarus to a dancing satyr. The shadows are alive in this place, and they are glad to see me.

The Cave has many turns on its inside before you're able to reach the Hell-Fire. But the light is able to travel across the rare stones that align the sides. Every time I turn, I expect to see the churning fires of the river. Though, instead of feeling the fatigue of battling in the Arena and traveling to the Caves, I begin to feel more and more energy coursing through me as I get closer. It feels good, the growing power within me.

My legs begin to move on their own as the soothing feel of the heat turns to hunger. I walk faster, my mind and soul no longer searching for the river, but searching for power. I feel my insides begin to heat up, causing a bright light to shine through my skin. It's the blood of Hyperion flowing through me that pulls me to the river. I think of diving in, letting the flames envelope me; drown me in their awesome power.

Then I think of the Caves blocking the full power of the _Phlethegon_, the power of the Sun, from me.

And I want to explode, taking Tartarus and the Caves and the Pit holding my father and _Percy Jackson_ along with me.

_**Lazarus.**_

The Signature of Hyperion, a crudely drawn Sun with rays escaping from its sides, burns into the flesh on my back.

_**Lazarus**_, the Titan Hyperion says in a voice like the crackle of a fire. The signature lights my back on fire once again.

"Dad?"

I turn a corner and stare straight ahead, half expecting to see my father standing there before me. But all that I see is the bright light that signifies the chasm that the _Phlethegon _courses through.

"Dad?" I call out again.

He doesn't respond. Even from the Pit he is able to reach into my mind and make the scar on my back light on fire in pain. I walk forward, the sound of my father's voice and the rush of the _Phlethegon _moving my body for me. I remember that I have to be somewhere. I have to do something.

_I'm supposed to go with Sasha and see…who? _

_I'm supposed to kill…_

_**Lazarus.**_

I stop and find myself standing inches away from the edge of the great chasm. I look down at the river with fire in my eyes. My skin glows with a violent bright light.

And my father speaks again.

_**Explode. **_

_Explode?_

_**Explode. And take it all with you. **_

_All of it?_

_**All of it.**_

_Even Percy Jackson? Even the Olympians?_

_**Explode, and destroy them all.**_

"Explode," I moan.

_**Explode, my son.**_

I smile with satisfaction as the world around me turns to white.


	4. Through the Tunnels

_Explode._

_The light is intense…_

…_.and I'm on fire._

_Percy Jackson and the Olympians are…are they dead?_

_Did I get them? Did I kill them all, Dad?_

_Dad?_

The bright light fades, and I feel as though someone's just ripped away the air from my lungs. One moment I'm doing nothing, feeling everything, and the next moment I'm falling, and I'm feeling the air rush passed me. Absolute horror envelopes me as I plunge through cold darkness. My hands fly wild in the air, trying desperately to grab a hold onto something; anything to stop this terror. My heart is beating. Too fast. Way too fast. Any moment and it'll explode right out of my inflated chest.

_No._

_Please. No. _

I'm falling to my death.

_Dad, help me. _

And then I'm standing on solid ground.

The darkness is gone. The cold that once electrified my body has turned to heat. I like the heat. The heat is where I belong. This place is home, wherever it is.

I find myself standing inside some sort of tunnel. The ground beneath my feet is solid, firm. I look down in the illuminated light; see that I'm standing on some sort of marble. The dancing flames that sit atop the candles on the rock walls allow the floor to glisten beneath my feet. The walls of the tunnel are made out of rock, and the light coming from the candles doesn't dance quite a nicely along them.

_What is this place?_

I look forward, seeing that this tunnel goes on for an eternity in blackness. Turning around, I can tell that there's not enough time in Tartarus for me to find my way out. The warmth which bought such a comforting feeling to me is now cold. My heart begins to race again. Because where am I?

I was walking along the tunnels of the Caves, and the heat had felt good. So wonderful. And then I was falling through nothingness. And now I'm here. Maybe this is the Caves. Maybe I got lost and this is some part that's simply yet to be discovered.

But the light is too dim. And the Caves have never had marble floors as far as I could tell. No, this is not the Caves; this might not even be Tartarus.

And then the man appears.

He comes from nowhere, popping out from the darkness and kicking my reflexes into full drive. I jump away from the man, but my legs trip over themselves and I find myself sprawled on the floor.

"Ow," I groan while wincing in pain.

The man looks down at me with weary eyes that don't come to life, even in the dancing firelight. His wispy white hair falls across his face and down to chest. Looking at him, I doubt if he has even discovered the concept of shaving. Layer upon layer of wrinkles cover his face, reminding me of the all too ripe apples served in the Mess Hall. His arms come forward, falling lifelessly in front of him. It might just be the shadows, but I swear I can the lower parts of his tattered grey robe shaking. It's taking almost all of his energy just to stand there.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice sounding weaker and less confident than I want it to. It almost feels shameful to be so scared of such a frail old man. In the back of my mind I can almost hear the cackles of Margie as she watches.

His cracked, thin lips remain twisted in that permanent look of agony. Instead of answering, which I can quickly tell is an impossible task to ask of him, he slowly turns and begins walking away from me.

He's almost out of sight before I finally work up the nerve to follow him. I get up from the floor and run down the tunnel to catch up. It occurs to me that he's moving a lot quicker than I thought could've been possible. I have to practically jog next to him in order to keep up.

He reaches out a frail hand as we move, lightly running it along the jagged wall. I watch as he presses into the rock, and I almost faint as an entirely new tunnel appears. He turns and begins walking down the new pathway. This process continues; me jogging along next to an ancient man who can make tunnels appear at his fingertips. Many times I turn my head and try to get a word out of him. But he keeps his eyes on an invisible point a million miles into the distance. As we go, many questions plague my mind. _Where am I? Am I dead? Who is this old man? Why am I even following him without a second thought?_

_Did I kill Percy Jackson? Did I destroy them all?  
_

_Dad?_

We round a corner and find a wooden door. The old man stops and turns to me. He nods in the door's direction with a solemn look on his face. I look from him to the door, and back at him again.

"You want me to open it?"

He nods.

"What's behind it?"

"_**You are**_," he says in a voice full of pain, sorrow, and wisdom.

He turns away from me and heads back through the tunnels. I stand there dumbfounded. I'm not there, I'm here. How can I be behind the door if I'm _right here_?

"Wait," I call after him. He stops. "At least tell me who you are."

"_**I am Plato**_."

"Plato?" My eyes widen. "_The_ Plato? You…you are…you _were _a philosopher, weren't you?"

Even from such a distance, and even with his back turned, I can tell his eyes have grown hard; bitter. His head sags a little lower. The robes seem to pull him even closer to the ground.

"_**That was a long time ago…**_"

And he's gone, leaving me alone with the mysterious wooden door and a throng of unanswered questions.


End file.
